Life has been throwing a lot my way lately, or at least throwing a lot at people I love. I debated whether to write about it, then remembered that the tagline of this blog is “Living well despite what life throws at you.”
It’s one thing to live large when everything is going well, it’s quite another to keep embracing life when things are not so great.
My life is fine, aside from the new upstairs neighbor, who I suspect of making wine late at night (stomp, stomp, stomp!). I have spoken to him and it is better, but I have to wear ear plugs a couple nights a week. I worry that the people who are renting my condo while I’m in the UK/Europe/Ethiopia this summer will be bothered.
Work has been a pressure cooker; this week I submitted almost $5 million worth of funding applications for projects in Iraq and Ethiopia. The teams were dispersed around the globe, from Kurdistan to The Gambia, which has only 14% Internet penetration. I do get a buzz out of pulling everything together to meet deadlines, and then I collapse in exhaustion.
On to the people I love: Vince broke up with his girlfriend, and for some reason it hit me hard. I was so happy that Vince had, for a while, a fun relationship that didn’t involve drugs or alcohol. But I realized my reaction was partly about me. A few weeks after I turned 40, my serious boyfriend dumped me. I wondered if that was it—I would never meet anyone again. After all, I was 40! Vince will be 39 this year. I have no idea if he feels like it’s over—I hope not—but I did.
The thing that’s really thrown me is hearing from Son #2 after a four-year silence.
I wrote a series of seven posts about Vince’s brother, who I gave up for adoption. I’ve never written about how I found him after many attempts and despite Catholic Charities’ best efforts to thwart us both.
I hesitated to write about this, but then—catatonic on the couch after all my proposals were done—I caught an episode of Call the Midwife that had an adoption storyline and I was reminded that the silence and shame that surrounds adoption has got to be broken.
Vince and I met him once, over 15 years ago. We met at a restaurant; I can’t remember exactly when or where because it was so surreal.
His name was the same as one of my brothers, but I will call him by the name I gave him, Isaac. He looked a lot like Vince but with different coloring. I asked if I could give him a hug and he said, “Of course!” and hugged me for a long time. Several hours of talking passed like seconds. We hugged goodbye and pledged to stay in touch.
It didn’t’ happen. Isaac’s adoptive mother was opposed to him meeting me, and he was already going behind her back. But he and Vince continued to meet up and developed a bond; Vince wrote about it here. It wasn’t a happy ending, but there’s hope now that Vince is in recovery.
Isaac sent me an email out of the blue about five years ago, with photos of his wife and kids. My grandchildren, who I’ve never met. His wife has the same name as my mother.
He said he would like for me to meet them, but then he disappeared again. I didn’t pursue it him because I didn’t want to be disappointed again.
Isaac wrote to me again last month.
His wife has Multiple Sclerosis. Severe, aggressive MS that affects her vision, speech, and mobility. He and I have been writing for about a month now, and I am hopeful we can stay in touch this time, but it’s stirring up a lot of regret, resentment, love, and hope.